Our Little World
by Masquerading as Quality
Summary: For years, Karen has lived in a fantasy world, drinking away her worries. But much as she tries, she simply doesn't want to drink until she forgets Grace. Undergoing major rewrites.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: REWORKED! To those of you who have this story Favourited/Alerted, thanks so much for hanging with me! I have firm plans to finish this story, but before I can continue it, it needs some reworking. Not much is different about this chapter, just the way things are phrased and a couple of spelling errors.

* * *

Some would argue that I was too drunk to know what I was thinking. That would be a perfectly rational assumption. I mean, they've seen the glass from which I am practically inseparable. Most of them have some vague clue as to why I drink so much. And everyone and his dog has heard my incessant digs at Grace Adler's appearance.

But what, exactly, was I thinking? They didn't know that, did they? Nor did they know that with all the alcohol I'd been imbibing for the past who-knows-how-long, I didn't even feel a buzz from the occasional sip throughout a day at the office. And though maybe a few people have a clue, they don't know the full story.

Hell, sometimes I don't even know the full story.

Finally, of course, nobody was ever around when I let my weak spot for Gracie show. That was the only reason I ever let it show in the first place.

Don't get me wrong, I can't help it if Grace's fashion sense is as hopeless as her undying love for Will(ma). I can't help it if my common sense is a little off after a lifelong hangover, so that my words are…well, they're sharper than people are used to hearing. Or if I often feel the need to cover up for certain aforementioned weak spots with misleading commentary.

I can't help it that I lo—I have a soft spot for Grace.

My, that was close. I almost admitted it.

Funny, I can think through my reasoning over and over—with the occasional allowance for a missing memory or one doused in gin—and still, I can't say the words. If I say the words, the feeling becomes real. Reality leads to wrinkles. Wrinkles lead to aging. Aging leads to more reality; one I don't even want to think about.

Thinking about it, I'm probably a lot older than Gracie. She's . . . what? Thirty-five, at most. And I? Through all the facelifts, all the jokes, all the lies, all the dirty looks at the mere mention of the number, I can only just remember my age. And I am most certainly not thirty-five.

I don't even know how old Stanley was. He always said he was older than I was, but that's all relative to how old he thought I was.

Come to think of it, I don't know how old any of my husbands were, really. I can't even remember the first three-anything about them. I think I've drunk them away into oblivion. I only know that they existed and that I have no children to remember them by. That's fine with me. Because the older children grow, the older I grow.

You could say that Jackie is my best friend. I mean, we're together every waking moment, we share every secret, we . . . well, we share almost every secret. There's something about my heterosexuality that makes Jackie feel good. Not that he dislikes lesbians; after all, that wouldn't be quite fair, would it? But he, being the quintessential gay man, believes in the quintessential everything. The quintessential gay man, the quintessential lesbian, the quintessential straight man who just doesn't know he's gay yet, and of course, the quintessential fag hag. And I've been nothing but that for his sake.

Jack and I share every secret because we don't have any real secrets to share.

Once upon a time, in the way of many quintessential fag hags before me, I was jealous of Jack's boyfriends. I wanted him to love me, instead. After all, weren't we the perfect pair? Designer style, mooching off of others for a living, beautiful and ageless . . . but of course that wasn't real. It's just pathetic. I'm not in love with my gay best friend like some lost, lovesick puppy! I'm not Grace!

Astoundingly, and somewhat dissociatively, I'm not jealous of Will. Not even for having Gracie's undying affection. No, the love Wilma has from Grace isn't what I want from her. It's a sort of settled-for fondness and a joy in the closeness they share. What I want from Gracie is passion. And that makes it even more unsatisfying, for wanting passion makes it even more unlikely.

Especially since Leo trounced into the picture.

Oh, my hatred for Leo is deadly.

It started off innocently enough, or as innocent as anything is in our tangled little world. Gracie met Leo Jewdoctor when she and Will were thinking about a baby. She came into work all torn up over it.

"Honey, what is the problem? It was just a kiss!" I told her flippantly, taking a big sip of vodka to emphasize the point in my mind.

"No, no, no," Grace argued, "You don't understand! It was a really good kiss."

In a drunken state of confidence, I scoffed, "Show me."

She gawked at me, "No!"

"Show me!"

"No!"

"C'mon! We're both stoned!"

"Forget it!"

"Shut up and show me!"

It might have been considered manipulative if I had really known what I was doing. But since I didn't, remembering the passion with which she kissed me is all the more intoxicating. God, where were my jokes and insults then?

We broke apart and somehow, through my, to put it lightly, hazy state, I remembered to hide my revealing facial expression and recovered with, "Yep, you're screwed."

She didn't catch on.

The whole incident that followed was during a time of heavy drinking. I guess I sensed something…well, something serious about Leo's presence in Grace's life, and it triggered all kinds of unwelcome responses. Thus, a few days later, I had yet another revealing conversation.

"I have to tell Will the truth-the whole truth!"

"Well, maybe it's for the best," I sighed, "Then you and I can move on with our lives. Out in the open to love freely."

"Karen," Grace looked at me strangely, as though over imaginary spectacles, "We're not a couple."

"Aren't we?"

"No."

"Well," I began to slink past her, "All I know is, when I woke up this morning, there was red hair on my pillow and lesbian porn in the VCR." I grabbed a strand of Grace's hair lightly and strutted out of the room smacking my rear end.

Again, she didn't catch onto the sentiment behind my bizarre non-sequitors.

How did she never catch on?

Well, no matter. Grace married Leo. And much as I hated the creep, I guess it was better that Gracie was happy.

Aww, who am I kidding? Gracie's an idiot with poor taste in men, as well as clothes. Thank God the poor sap's in Zimbabwe or Colombia or wherever so I don't have to see that lousy excuse for a human being anywhere near her.

"Karen! You're here!" Grace exclaimed with sarcastic gusto as she entered the office.

"Yeah, of course I am, honey!" I replied innocently, taking another sip from the glass of whatever I had poured in it this morning. Honestly, much like the numerous pills I often popped, the taste or the side effects didn't matter. It was the drug that took away the sting of reality.

After the initial witticisms about my lackadaisical work habits, the idea that I existed seemed to slip from her mind, and with an equal amount of fervour, she slammed her head against her work table in despair.

"Well, what's the matter, Gracie?"

As I suspected, even after a few moments' time, she was surprised to see me there. All the same, she answered, "I miss Leo."

It took a large gulp of the stuff in the glass to muster the reply, "Oh."

Quite predictably, Grace went into the musty details of exactly how, why, and when she missed the guy who was probably down in Whatsis having a fantastic time with someone else. Not that I doubted he thought himself lucky to have Gracie, but he probably also felt lucky to have someone who was gullible and forgiving.

He didn't know that Grace Adler was, while gullible, the most unforgiving, self-absorbed person since myself.

So as she was ranting and raving and emoting, I was smiling as my inner monologue whirled on. No wonder she thought I was too drunk to think gay.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Reworked!

* * *

I had numerous opportunities to begin to condition Jack to my ongoing infatuation. And honestly, I did try the first few times. Like the time Jack fell in love with the leader of some culty turning-gays-straight thing.

"They're having a meeting tomorrow," Jack informed me excitedly, all but drooling over the flyer with the picture of Bill, "We have to go! What this organization is advocating is morally wrong, and it is my responsibility to shine the mirror of truth upon them!"

"Honey...?"

"Okaaaay, I just wanna make out with Bill."

I smiled, "Okay."

Cue more drooling, "Mmmm, he's cute, isn't he?"

"I know, I know, honey, but it's a waste of time, all right? It's like . . . exercising or . . . reading to your kids," I smiled momentarily, "The man thinks he's straight!"

"There are no straight men, only men who haven't met Jack."

Subconsciously, I rolled my eyes, "Yeah, well, you can count me out. If you think I'm gonna spend my Sunday morning with a bunch of self-loathing closet cases-"

He cut off my hypocritical reverie, "You get to be a lesbian."

"Wake me by 11.00," I smiled and we parted.

* * *

"Oh my Lord, look at these people!" I tsked as we entered the rather spacey room filled mostly with men in their thirties or forties who appeared to have just recently gained weight and forgotten the meaning of fashion, "Just because they stopped being gay doesn't mean they have to stop having taste! Wha-?"

Jack cut me off, distracted, "Yeah. Look, there he is! There's Bill! Isn't he dreamy?"

I gave it a shot, "Yeah, he's a slice of ice-cream cake. Now, when do I get to French-kiss a girl? Come on, when? When?"

And Jack ignored me. "Patience, Clarice. The best way for me to get close to Bill is to act like a straight guy."

I didn't want to think about what that could mean. Not that he wanted to get closer to BIll, but that he was completely disregarding my overt comment. Deep within that soft, simple skull, something was setting off big, flashing red lights with sparkles. If Jack weren't so self-absorbed, he might actually try to search for the meaning behind my jest.

"Omigod, there's Bill!" Jackie screeched.

"Aaand, take it out of the head voice!" I reminded him.

"Omigod, there's Bill," he did so.

"Jack, I'm so proud of you for coming!" Bill approached us, "As a former gay man myself, I know how difficult it can be to take that first step. Welcome back home."

Jack replied, in his 'straight' voice, "Uh, dude, I came home a long time ago," he chuckled, and there is not a stranger sound than Jack chuckling in 'straight guy' mode, "Uh, this is Karen, the old ball-and-chain."

I took my cue, "I used to dig chicks," then added, uncomfortably and unintentionally, "Heh-heh..."

Bill, not noticing my discomfort, continued, "Oh, well, welcome back home to you, too. I'm sorry. When I saw you at the bar last night, I just assumed-"

"Oh, no, no, no," Jack cut him off, "I was just . . . uh . . . trying to get my bud Will back on the . . . straight and narrow again. Yeah . . . he's a big fat flamer!" we both laughed uncontrollably, knowing full well that Jack was a bigger flamer than Will and Grace put together, "He's in love with me, so, uh- Me? I like the ladies. Right, babe?"

We kissed. I thought about how I would have relished this moment a few years previously when I was still in love with him. I smiled nostalgically as we parted. This was fun. More disturbing than fun was Bill's creepy 'straight' reaction.

"Wow. Wow, that is just a beautiful thing to see!" It was like a twisted version of what Jackie said when straight people kissed. "Isn't being married great? Is there anything better?"

Yeah," I grinned wickedly, "Riding on the back of a Harley with Angelina Jolie! Oh!" I gasped, "Oh! Bad, bad, bad..."

That's why I brought her in, see?" Jack caught on, "She needs a little bit of a tune-up."

"Yeah," I smiled warily. Maybe I did.

* * *

When I returned to Gracie's office the next day, she was hunched over some sketch as usual and barely noticed my entry. Thus, it gave me a moment to take in the sight. Her hair was pushed over to the other side of her face, so I could clearly see her overworked expression and worried eyes. Apparently, my tune-up hadn't worked, because for a moment, I considered simply standing there until she noticed. Surely she wouldn't think I was staring at her for any reason other than being too drunk to find my seat, right? It was safe, right?

No, that wouldn't do. So, with much exuberance, I cried, "Hey, Gracie!" and plopped down into my desk chair, opening the drawer and grabbing the first pills that contacted my fingers to ease my loss.

"Hey, Kare," she actually looked up and acknowledged me, forgetting the sketch.

"Anything the matter, honey?"

Grace sighed and sat down, "My old enemy, Val, came by. All day, I thought she had changed, and then she stole from me!"

I gave her a look, "Gracie, what have I told you about enemies?"

"They never change?"

I smiled and nodded, then took a hearty sip of my beverage _du jour_.

Grace rested her head in her hands and watched me drink. She opened her mouth, hesitated, closed it again. Finally she asked softly, "Is that all that keeps you going?"

I met her eyes. "What do you mean, honey?"

"The drinking. Is it all that keeps you going?"

I smiled a little bit, hoping there wasn't a glimmer in my eye or anything of the like. "Nope. There are other things, too."

After a lengthy pause, I stood. "Well, I'll be going now, honey."

"Karen, you've been here for five minutes." The moment was gone. Grace was now looking at me as though I was crazy again.

"I know. Working too long makes my vodka hurt, honey. Speaking of things that hurt, rethink that skirt-blouse combo." And then I was gone, rushing down the street towards home, towards a restaurant, a department store, anything.

Working too long meant spending too much time around Grace. And that made me think too much about Grace, even when I wasn't around her. And the more I thought, the more I wanted her. And that wouldn't do.

"Rosario, why isn't this house clean?" I bellowed as I tore through the front door. In all honesty, the house was mostly clean, but I needed something to be angry about.

"You've been gone for ten minutes, lady," Rosario replied dryly as she toddled past with a featherduster.

Breezing through the house, I ended up in my bedroom, now devoid of any husband to bother me. Marriage—real marriage-wasn't for me, I knew. I used the institution shamelessly for the income it brought, but the little things—sharing a bed, waking up every morning with someone in the house, coming home every night to someone in the house—I would not miss. They reeked of emotional attachment, and I had no interest in forming emotional attachments to anyone except my favourite pair of shoes. I didn't even want to admit that I had one to Grace!

Whew, that was even closer, wasn't it? An emotional attachment almost sounds like the L word. Gotta watch that.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Reworked and rewritten! Obviously I'm playing with the continuity of the show for my own selfish entertainment.

* * *

"Oh, come on, Grace! Why can't we have an office Christmas party?"

She gave me a look, "Last year's was a disaster. You got drunk, told me you loved me, and kissed me in the service elevator."

I smiled absent-mindedly, then wondered, "I thought that was Valentine's Day…"

"No," she sighed, "On Valentine's Day, you got drunk and felt me up in the swatch room."

"Hmmm . . ." I thought back, "Well . . . I'm a sucker for the holidays. Besides, honey, I'm always drunk. And I don't recall you putting up a fight."

Grace stared at me, eyes wide as the colour of her cheeks began to clash marvelously with the colour of her hair. "I…was pretty drunk, myself." She had nothing more to say on the subject.

We were standing in the midst of Jack's workplace, strange as those two words sound together in the same sentence. He had gotten a job at Barney's a few weeks ago and hadn't yet managed to glitz and glamour his boss to death.

As Jack whirled by and introduced us to the aforementioned boss, Dorleen, I allowed my thoughts to slip away from conversation.

Was Grace blind? At every holiday event we'd both attended, I had gotten drunk (hardly a novelty) and practically knelt down before her confessing my undying love. What did she think alcohol did to you, made you think the exact opposite of what you thought every day?

No, no, too much wishful thinking for one day. Grace loved Leo, even if he was in Africa saving the…whatever it was that lived in Africa. I was lucky to have Grace on drunken holidays. That was the way it had been forever. I don't even remember when I met Grace. A side effect, I guess, of trying to forget my age. Things that happened at certain ages become a sort of haze.

But I do remember meeting her, because I wasn't a worthless drunk at the time. Jackie knew Will from, I dunno, the secret society of homosexuals, I guess, and one day, I came with Jack to some lunch get-together, which Grace was also attending.

I also remember that I loved her at first sight. It certainly wasn't the clothes. Grace's lack of fashion sense was no new event. It wasn't her hair or her face. She was the adult product of years of being the red-headed, freckled kid. She couldn't have been far past her mid-twenties. But her eyes! The green you'd expect, and nothing out of the ordinary, but something in them showed potential. The potential for a passion I had only ever glimpsed.

I met a lot of cold, cruel people who pretended to be nice, and generally nice people who refused to be nicer. I spent a lot of time talking to people I hated and people I didn't care about at all. I flirted with the people who would give me the money I needed to continue to live in the way to which I had become accustomed. Love, friendship, passion…those things were not a part of my world. Such emotion as I felt the first time I looked into Grace Adler's eyes was not a part of my reality.

That was when I snapped. From a building queue of unhappy marriages, old lost loves of both genders, Jackie's inability to love me, and my own inability to connect with the human race, the thing that drove me over the edge into alcoholism was the fact that Grace could never love me. If she wasn't a part of my reality, I would just turn my world into one big fantasy.

* * *

When I think back on my time with Lyle Finster, I refer to him as The Distraction. I'd like to say that I felt something real for him, some sort of real affection, but the truth is that I tried to devote myself to him just a little bit so as to pull some of my devotion away from Gracie.

With Leo away, Grace was spending an awful lot of time at her office. When she wasn't at her office and when Wilma finally shooed her out of his life, she sought after my companionship. And that was just exhausting. So I found Finny.

But it was at my dysfunctional wedding to Lyle that Will found out that Leo had cheated on Grace. He made a mistake in telling me, because I wanted with every ounce of my being to kill that man.

I broke it off with Lyle almost immediately. I was done pretending for the moment. Also, Finster is a terrible last name and I would never subject myself to it.

For a day or two, Grace tried to act strong.

The next day or three, she found solace in her bed.

As this occurred, I found solace in a great deal of whiskey.

First, Will tried to cheer her up.

Then Jack tried.

And then my phone rang. And what the hell could I do about it?

"No, listen, Karen, Jack really made a mess of things."

"What the hell am I supposed to do, Wilma? I'm drunk out of my mind!"

A pause. A sigh. "You helped her that one time with Nathan, didn't you?"

Helped?

"_I mean, when in your life have you had sex like that?"_

"_I miss having sex with you!"_

"_I miss everything else about you!"_

"_I love you!"_

"I—about that, honey. I dunno if my particular brand of help—"

"Karen."

"Oh, for the love of Chanel, fine. I'll be right over."

"Hi, girls," I regarded Will and Jack sitting on the couch with a certain feeling of déjà vu. "How's Grace?"

"Bad."

"How bad?"

"Have you seen Sex and the City 2?"

"Sweet baby Jesus, what did you _do_?" I didn't wait for an answer.

"…no one to comfort when things go wrong,  
That's how I want it to beeeee…  
NOBODY'S PROBLEMS FOR—"

"Aaaaall righty, that's enough of that!" I cried, slamming the door behind me. "That's the last time I let Jack watch Bedknobs and Broomsticks."

"Karen?" the mass of red curls on the bed seemed to speak, "What are you doing here?" As though it were huma—_oh Lord_.

"Hey, Gracie! Didn't see you there—I thought you'd finally cut off that burning bush growing on your head!"

From the terrifying mountain of hair emerged a face which gave me a withering look. "Karen, I'm not really in the mood for this."

"Well, no one in the living room is really in the mood to hear your weepy renditions of mediocre Disney songs from the 70's, honey, so let's compromise, huh?"

She lowered her eyebrows and sniffled in response.

"Great! Let's try this: why don't you just tell me how you're feeling. With words. No singing."

"Karen," she said disparagingly, "you know very well how I'm feeling."

"How's that, honey?"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"How do you feel? I don't know. So tell me."

"Leo betrayed me?" she said, screwing up her features in that way people do to indicate that you are too stupid to breathe. "I feel betrayed?"

"Uh huh. What else?"

"Hurt? Sad…angry. Really angry. But also sad. "

"Mm-hm," I sat down on the edge of the bed.

"I feel unattractive. Like…like, is this girl prettier than me?"

"Of course not, honey." I began stroking her hair, careful not to tug at the tangles as I combed it away from her face.

"But why else would he cheat on me?"

"People are stupid. They get lonely."

"Lonely!" she half-yelped as I tugged a particularly knotted curl free. "Doesn't he think I was lonely here?"

"They get drunk and do stupid things," I offered.

"That's no excuse!" she waved her hands around frantically. "What, do you think being drunk makes you think the opposite of what you think every day?"

"I know what being drunk does to you, honey."

Grace blinked a couple of times and then her green eyes, electric with emotion, met mine. "Right. Sorry."

"Listen, Gracie," I sighed and shifted into a more comfortable position. Grace scooted over to accommodate me. "Nobody ever has a good reason for cheating. You're just gonna have to decide between now and the time the Jewdoctor comes waltzing in to grovel at your feet whether you're going to forgive him or not."

"I can't—I couldn't take him back! Oh, god, I can't even…but I still—"

"Oh, good Lord, take a chill pill, Grace." I fished through my bag and offered her one. She shook her head. "Suit yourself. I didn't mean you should take him back right away. I meant you should decide whether you're going to try to forgive him eventually or whether this is the end. Otherwise," I popped the pill, "you'll just end up wasting a lot of time and bad eating decisions when somewhere in that curly, curly red head of yours, you knew the answer all along."

Grace was looking at me the way she usually did when she didn't understand a word I was saying. I sighed and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. "Well, I guess I'd better be—"

"Wait!"

I looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

"Would you…would you stay a little longer?"

"I—" really should be going, Gracie, you wouldn't want me taking advantage of you in your current state. But, for the love of all that is good and fashionable, those _eyes! _"Sure, honey."

She smiled. I settled back into the pillows, and then she curled up next to me. My first reaction was to lash out, to say something like, 'Calm down, you big lez—I'm not Wilma!' and quarantine her to her side of the bed.

But for the first time in as long as I could remember, I crushed said reaction, put my arm around her, and resumed stroking her tangled hair. She was devastated, and if I were in a clearer state of mind, I would have been devastated for her.

But _god_, what was it going to take to get her to notice that she was driving me crazy?

About half an hour later, it hit me.

"You know, Gracie, maybe you need a rebound guy."

"Hmm?" she murmured sleepily.

"You know, someone you can just fool around with, a one-night thing."

She mumbled something into my shirt, but the only words I caught were "still married."

"Didn't stop him," I said softly.

Grace was silent for awhile and I wondered if maybe I had upset her again. After about five minutes, I realized she had fallen asleep.

Two days later, Gracie was out of her bed and getting around like a normal depressed human again. She didn't go out and see friends or anything, but she did take a walk around the city once a day, and she ate, drank, and slept at normal intervals. She was running on autopilot, physically healthy, but her brain was all but nonexistent. She was a hung-over me.

I didn't want to put my plan into action too soon. It was likely my subliminal message about rebounding had not reached her at all. Aside from that, for everything to work perfectly, I had to be completely and utterly sober, something I hadn't been in years. That would take some time, but I was willing to wait. For the scheme brewing in my mind right then was so perfect, it would either change my life for good, or ruin it forever.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Reworked! Finally! It's significantly different. Again, thank you SO much to those who have this story Favourited/Alerted for not giving up on me! Also-the chapters that haven't been reworked may not follow anymore. Your readership and feedback are much appreciated!

* * *

"ROSARIO!"

"What?"

"Turn off the lights. They hurt my body."

"That's the sun, Lady."

"I don't care—turn it off!"

You know something weird? After the first six or seven days of blinding pain, nausea, hallucinations, terrible skin, and the bizarre ability to hear a pin drop three rooms away, I actually didn't crave any drugs anymore. That much.

After those few merciless days, that bland emptiness that drove me to pills and the sauce years ago returned, and I found I could deal with it just fine.

One morning, I lit from the bed, steadying myself against it when I felt my knees wobble, and walked gingerly into the bathroom. With meticulous care, I applied strategic make-up to accentuate my almost youthful face. Today, I was not going to look like a drag queen. I was going to look young and appealing.

A sweep of my closet ended in the usual low-cut black suit (I really had to go shopping for some more fun businesswear), and I decided to wear my hair in a bun. It had not taken well to my six-day system cleanse and was somehow both greasy and brittle at the same time.

"Karen...?"

"Yeah, honey?"

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. Why?"

"You're on time."

I smiled and sat down, resisting the urge to pop a pill or two and instead sipping my water-filled martini glass. Grace was still a wreck. Her hair was even frizzier a mess than usual and she was wearing a red blouse of all things. She was still ogling me curiously with those big, green eyes, and it was strange how crisp the image was without the haze of various druglike paraphernalia.

I didn't do anything all day. Without the usual buzz, I couldn't really think of anything to occupy my time. But I stayed. And I watched Grace. Her shoulders were hunched and her brow was furrowed, but her mind was not on her anguish. It was in her sketching, whatever the sketches might contain. I couldn't really remember what the business was.

Grace finally noticed me again when she was preparing to leave. She seemed taken aback, as though she hadn't expected me there.

"Karen...?"

"Yeah, honey?"

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. Why?"

"You stayed the full work day."

I smiled soberly, for lack of a better word. "I know."

"Seriously;" Grace looked suddenly terrified, "what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong with me, honey," here went nothin' "but you look like you could use a drink. And some fashion sense, but that's beside the point," I giggled at my own joke. "How about coming over tonight? Stan's left, Rosario's off-"

But Grace interrupted me, her hands held up in protection like she expected me to strike, "Woah! Now I know something's wrong. You just said Rosario was OFF."

I sneered, "Some labour union started marching around outside with torches and pitchforks. I had a headache, so what could I do but send them away?"

Still on her guard, she replied, "Uh . . . drink something?"

"Sounds great. Be there by seven," I shot her a cheeky grin and a wink and made my exit.

Stage one complete.

I made it home around six and immediately returned to my bathroom for a shower and a change of attire. The hair situation was still no good, so I kept it up. I chose a silken black gown which trailed a bit behind me, a silver necklace, and my favourite Jimmy Choos.

I prepared a fruity cocktail for Grace and water with food colouring for myself, and I perched them on the coffee table in one of my sitting rooms. Much as the mere scent of Grace's drink brought back the agonising memories of withdrawals, I simply had to follow the plan. The plan was all or nothing: it had to be perfect or it would fail, crash, and burn for all eternity.

Grace arrived fairly promptly in different and equally tasteless clothes (at least they weren't red—or _orange_, God forbid), but having apparently attempted to take a comb to her hair. Something told me that she was a little uncomfortable about the whole situation, but the vodka would cure that. The way it smelled, it would probably cure that and much, much more.

We sat together on the sofa. Grace eyed her drink suspiciously and attempted to sniff it with tact. Unfortunately, Grace Adler's redeeming qualities do not include tact. She took a tentative sip, tried to stifle some frightening coughs, and then took another sip, gradually conditioning herself to my formula. "Should have known you'd make your drinks a little stronger than I'm used to."

"That old thing? That's mostly cranberries as far as I'm concerned, honey."

She did not laugh, but gave me a skeptical look. A moment passed in awkward silence. I sipped my water. "So..." she attempted, "Did you . . . enjoy staying the entire work day?"

I smiled a little, "Oh, yeah, it was a blast. What is it you do again?"

Grace took another drink and then gave me a withering look, "We design, Karen."

I chuckled. "I'm sure you do. Anyway, what else is going on?"

"What else is…?" Grace looked at me like I had said something crazy.

"Going on. In your life," I clarified with a wave of my hand. Good Lord, could she not hold her liquour at all?

"Since when have you ever cared what's going on in my life?" Grace asked. It was not an insult, but the matter-of-fact way she said it stung all the more.

"That's a little harsh, don't you think?" I asked with a fake laugh.

Grace frowned, "I'm not being harsh, I'm just saying…I don't think you've ever asked me that question before. Do you actually want the answer?"

God, I wished this water were alcoholic. "Sure I do."

Grace studied her drink for a minute. "Wow. Uhm. Okay." Jesus Christ, was I really this bad, that the idea of telling me what was going on in her life was the most shocking thing ever? It kind of seemed like she told me random crap about her life all the time—more specifically, stuff about Leo that I really didn't want to hear.

"I, uh, stole some more stuff from Leo's house today."

Lord, this was like pulling teeth. "Uh huh. I could get that from reading a police report."

Grace frowned. "One of my clients finally paid me. Took the check to the bank. Is that un-newsworthy enough for you?" She giggled inexplicably. "Washed my hair. Clipped my toenails. Spent a couple of hours locked in my bathroom crying because I can't trust anyone anymore…" And suddenly she was no longer a giggly drunk. The revelation caused her shoulders to sag.

"Oh, honey, that's ridiculous," I said, patting her shoulder. "You just can't trust the Jewdoctor, that's all."

Grace scrunched up her nose, "What did you call him?"

I shrugged. "Jewdoctor. Can't remember his last name. Also I think it's funny."

"It's Markus."

"Markus Hocus Pocus whatever, he'll always be the Jewdoctor to me."

"Grace Adler-Jewdoctor?"

"Don't give me that bullshit."

Grace giggled. Her face was flushed red. "Rachel Adler Jewdoctor? G. A. Jewdoctor? G. Elizabeth Jewdoctor?"

I rolled my eyes. The obvious flaw in my plan is that drunk people are no fun when you're sober. It had been so long since that happened, I had forgotten. "Really? You're putting your name next to his like a sixteen year old virgin why exactly?"

Grace bit her lip playfully and I maybe kind of lost my edge a little bit. "Because it pisses you off," she replied.

This threw me for a loop, but I stayed in the game. "In what freaking world do you go by Elizabeth?"

Grace smiled almost giddily. "The one where I'm a sixteen year old virgin."

"Damn right you are. With your hair, everyone would be calling you Frizzy Lizzie before the first lunch bell rang." I giggled at my own joke and Grace pouted.

"For someone who hates my hair so much, you sure talk about it a lot."

"I don't hate your hair."

Grace raised her eyebrows, "You don't?"

"No," I said, twisting one of the curls. "I like making jokes about your hair. Big difference, honey. Try to keep up."

She half-laughed and swatted my hand away. "You are the worst."

I tilted my head. "Am I really?"

Grace examined her empty drink glass for a moment. "You know," she said quietly, "I actually feel better. For the first time in, like, months." She looked up at me, green eyes shining. I swallowed. "Thanks for doing this, Karen."

I smiled, more than a little uncomfortably. "Anytime, Gracie."

Grace's eyes glanced down and back up, then repeated the motion. She blinked. "Your lipstick is a pretty colour," she said finally.

My smile turned genuine. "Considering the colour of your nose, I'm gonna take that compliment with a grain of salt."

Grace covered her nose. "It's your fault. How many shots did you put in that thing?"

I pushed her hand away from her face and cupped her cheek. "Honey, I haven't measured shots since high school."

She took my hand and held it in both of hers, examining it. Her hands were smaller, tanner, and warmer than mine. "Why did you start drinking, Karen?" she asked quietly.

I laughed, "Why the hell do you think? It was fun."

Grace looked up at me, "No, I mean…drinking…as much as you do."

I rolled my eyes and considered ways of getting away from this topic as soon as possible. "God, you sound just like those AA people."

Grace gave a little half-chuckle and looked down at my hand in hers again. She had apparently decided not to press the matter.

Again I reached out and twirled one of her unruly curls around my finger, then gently raised her chin so that she faced me. There was a strange look in her eyes. I tilted my head in a silent question, but her answer didn't make any sense.

"You know, we missed Labour Day."

I shook my head, "What?"

"I dunno, it's the only excuse I can think of." Before I could ask, she cupped my face in her hands, leaned forward, and kissed me.

I didn't ask any more questions. I felt like anything I could possibly say would shatter the illusion and Grace would pull away as she always did, and murmur _sorry_ or _we can't do this_ or _I gotta go find my boyfriend/ex/mailman/Wilma_. So I said nothing, and Grace said nothing as I unbuttoned her shirt, unzipped her pants, or unhooked her bra. Between the two of us, we said a few more words that night, but they never amounted to sentences.

I guess my plan kind of worked after all. What the hell, stage two gets a big old check mark as far as I'm concerned.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Reworked, finally! I'm slowly getting closer to making progress!

* * *

Waking up in the morning is weird. The light is different just after dawn, much more gentle than the harshness of midday. I couldn't remember the last time I had experienced that. I figured it must have been what woke me.

The other thing that was weird was that I could feel everything. I felt the warmth of the sunlight, the cool breeze from the air conditioner, and another inexplicable warmth concentrated in my waist and near my right shoulder.

I shifted my head. A small, feminine arm with a nice tan was draped across my waist. It was attached to a similarly well-shaped and tanned feminine body, which was attached to a wild mass of red curls nuzzled against me.

It took all of two seconds for the panic to set in.

What the Hell are you supposed to do when you wake up like this? Should I get up? Should I pretend to go back to sleep? Should I put on some sexy lingerie, have Cook make some Waffles, and pretend everything is just hunky-dory? What was Grace going to do? Would she even remember what had happened?

Oh sweet baby Jesus…how was I ever going to forget?

Removing myself from Grace's death grip was no easy task, but she apparently slept like a hibernating bear, or her hair shielded her from the sunlight or something. She barely even moved when I got up.

I was momentarily distracted from my impending dilemma by sensations I had not experienced in years. The feeling of the polished wood floors and the expensive Persian rugs beneath my bare feet as I made my way to the bathroom made me tingle all over. The lingering scent of last night's activities was something I would never be able to put into words, and it made me feel simultaneously ecstatic and sick to my stomach.

Too bad my catch-all cure for queasiness was off-limits.

I skillfully avoided catching sight of myself in the mirror and turned the shower pressure and temperature as high as I could stand. The water pounded against my skin and burned with every drop, but the pain was strangely soothing.

When I emerged from the shower, I accidentally looked in the mirror. I covered my mouth to avoid vocalizing my disgust.

God, since when did I look so _old_?

It wasn't like Grace was jailbait, but there's just so much fire in her. Up until that stupid marriage, she still ran around like she was twenty, and really, even the marriage was the move of an overgrown child. In the weepiest depths of her despair, she seemed more like a teenager who got stood up for the dance than a grown woman who had been betrayed by her husband.

Grace still had her whole life ahead of her, and me?

I was suddenly stricken by the realization that it might just be too late for me.

This fantasy world I created for myself was just supposed to be a temporary solution, a way to deal with my empty life until I could find a way to be happy. I thought that the instant I saw something or someone that could be the be-all-end-all for me, I would snap out of it, come back down to Earth, and be a real person again. I was still young when all this began.

When would it end? I was forty-five years old and I looked closer to sixty. I just devised an elaborate scheme using alcohol to seduce a girl ten years younger than me just so I could feel alive for a little while.

I put on make-up and a skirt and blouse, put in an order with Cook because I decided I deserved a damn waffle, and returned to my bedroom with some water and pills just in time to hear a loud groan from beneath the pile of red hair on my pillow.

Several minutes later, Grace emerged, her hair flying around her in all directions. Her face was red and puffy and the bags under her eyes put mine to shame, but she somehow still managed to be beautiful. I frowned and approached the bed.

"Take these. You'll feel better."

"Mmmmmmmgh?"

"Jesus, you're a lightweight, Gracie," I said, trying to keep my voice from rising an octave.

Grace squinted at me, blinked several times, then turned her attention to my offering of meds.

"Whadisit?"

I giggled, "Oh Lord, honey, I don't know!"

She continued to eye the pills skeptically, but she took them and swallowed them nonetheless. As she sipped the water, I could actually see her trying to piece together what had happened.

"Y'know," she slurred. "I had the weirdest dream last night."

"Oh," I replied stupidly. "Really?"

Grace nodded. "What the hell'd you put in that drink?"

"Pinch of this, dash of that, honey. What about that dream?"

Grace took another sip of water, some of which spilled onto the sheet which concealed the lower half of her body. She looked down and promptly realized she was naked.

"Question," she said slowly. "Why am I naked?"

A strange feeling of resignation washed over me as I took the empty water glass from her and handed her a bathrobe. "Like I said, Gracie, you can't exactly hold your liquor. C'mon, let's get you a nice, cold shower."

As soon as Grace had stumbled her way into my bathroom, I grabbed her some clothes and placed them outside the door. For once in her life, Grace Adler would be impeccably dressed. Pity she was too hung-over to appreciate my generosity.

While I was at it, I decided to knock on the door. I had already lost everything—why the hell shouldn't I go down in style? "Hey, Gracie, while you're in there, use some of that shampoo. Should do wonders on that frizzball you call hair!"

Grace didn't respond. I didn't even really feel bad for being deliberately rude. I was kind of numb now. It was relaxing.

After about fifteen minutes, Grace shuffled into the dining room wearing my clothes, her hair falling in perfect, frizzless curls. I kind of hated that I found her less attractive this way. She sat down beside me wordlessly and took the orange juice that Cook had served with the waffles. It had been maybe fifteen years since I'd had straight orange juice. It tasted weird to me.

We sat in awkward silence for several minutes. Grace finished her orange juice, then glared at her waffles for another minute before she spoke.

"Please tell me…what I think happened…didn't happen."

"Don't talk to your food that way," I retorted. "It didn't do anything to you. See? There's a smiley face on it."

Grace's glare was diverted to me. "Karen."

I sighed. It didn't matter now. I already knew what was coming. Nothing she said could hurt me anymore. "What do you think happened, Grace?"

"I think you got me drunk and then raped me."

Guess I was wrong about the hurting me thing.

"Excuse me, but you're the one who kissed me!" I snapped.

"Oh, please, tell me that wasn't what you wanted to happen!"

"It's not like I held a gun to your head."

"You didn't ask permission, either."

"I didn't ask permission for you to kiss me? That doesn't even make sense!"

"To touch me, to get near me, to take off my clothes, to…" she suddenly turned as red as her hair. "I can't believe you."

"All due respect, Gracie, you weren't exactly complaining last night."

"Because I was drunk!" Grace flailed her arms as if that somehow emphasized her point.

"God, you act like being drunk changes your entire damn personality!"

"Doesn't it? Then how do you explain your sorry-ass behavior?"

"I was sober!" I cried.

Grace laughed cruelly, "Right! Right! Karen Walker was sober! That's a good one. I'm leaving. Fuck you, Karen."

"You did!" I shrieked. "You did and you fucking liked it!"

"You are a pervert and an adulterer! You are sick! You're sick in the head and you need to get help!"

"Oh, what, so you can pal around with your gal Wilma but you think there's something fucking wrong with me because I'm attracted to you?"

"You cheated on your husband!"

"My husband is dead!"

"He…what?"

I shrugged, "I got a call a few days ago. I was trying to sober up and I barely even understood it at the time. But Stan's dead."

"Karen…" said Grace, suddenly all soft and apologetic.

"So you can take your delusional ass out of my house and just go back to the lie you're living, Grace. I don't want to talk to you until you stop fucking pretending that I somehow made you do something you didn't want to."

I met Grace's eyes—hers were now wide and shining with tears, a plea for me to help her or let her help me. Mine, I know, were as hard and cold as my heart felt. I had already lost everything, just like I knew I would.

Instead of leaving, Grace approached me. She cupped my face in her hand and looked at me with so much pity that I wanted to slap the shit out of her. "Won't you talk to me?"

"Since when do you want to talk about my problems?" I snapped.

"Fine," Grace replied, dropping her hand. Her face was the picture of serene self-righteousness. "I try, Karen. I have tried to help you, but you always just push me away. If you want someone to help you, you can't just—"

I slapped her. Hard.

"If I wanted your condescending little offer of help, I could trudge on over to the Bargain Bin with my new pals from AA!" I snarled. Grace backed up, a flicker of genuine fear in her eyes. This, too, disgusted me, and I couldn't decide whether the disgust was directed at Grace or at myself. "Get the fuck out of my house. I've been sober for two weeks and I feel a binge coming on."

Grace backed out of the room, almost tripping over Rosario as she went. I poured a generous helping of vodka into my orange juice and chugged the entire glass.

"Grace looks good," Rosario remarked.

"I hope she dies in a fiery explosion," I replied, patting my chest as I felt the soothing burn of sweet, sweet alcohol.

"Karma isn't exactly on your side, Lady," said Rosario smugly as she cleared away the dishes.

I poured myself another screwdriver, chugged it, and then threw the glass at the door as Rosario closed it behind her.

Where the hell is your master plan now, Karen?


End file.
